I am most passionate about connections. One of my earliest childhood memories are with someone else. Joyful. Though books were my bestest of friends throughout grade school, I figured my creativity was sparked when connecting with others.
This practice felt effortless as a child and the older I got, the more I realized how complicated it could be to make those connections. At times, it was because of my desire to control, other times it was another choosing to remain skeptical about me. Needless to say, expectations definitely play(ed) a part.
I have a gift of relating to just about every single person I meet. I have the tendency of asking people things they haven't been asked before. A question or series of questions that manage to change their perception in real time. Before my eyes, I see their expectation transform into curiosity about themselves that brings out a childlike reflection in their answer. See what I mean about control?
I've had people begin life-changing projects that came from something I sparked in them, a seed I planted in a conversation or simply showed them how bright they shine when they have been blinded from their own gifts. It makes what I live for - connections - something I feel I will continue to make, just for the experience.
It's enriching to think of the abundance of ways I make them happen. Even when a particular experience no longer remains in my memory, yet that someone happens to reach out thanking me for contributing to their freedom, happiness and/or success. I reflect often especially after the 'thank you', whether I remember or not, because it's important for me to understand the impact it had in me. The state of mind I was in when the connection took place compared to the state of mind I am in when receiving the praise. In all experiences, I learn and most importantly, look forward to building better (read: unforgettable) connections.
One of the things I admire is the way connections are formed without saying much, if anything at all. See, I'm a writer. Words are my way of being understood as well as understanding. I know that I write better than I speak. At least, I feel more confident in my writing than my speech.
The skating community is one in which connections are made all the time and not necessarily with a conversation. It's relatable to congregate some place to do something you all enjoy. Someone doesn't have to ask another if they like skating. Or what do they like to do in their spare time. No conversations need to even be had, just look around you or perfect your craft. That, in itself, is beyond admirable to me. Connections happening in real time whether you planned to or not.
I suppose that's why I have been on twitter for 15 years now. Prior to that HipAlbum was my jam. That was instagram before instagram was instagram. I remember HipAlbum having a feature in which only 10 comments were allowed (including any of yours that you replied to). I love(d) that. I see some famous people's posts with a bazillion comments and I think, really? Once 10 comments are on a post, no one else is allowed. Onto the next one. Oh well. That'll show those 'first' comments. *rolls eyes*
Before HipAlbum, I was on MiGente.com (rest in matrix peace). Before that, I was on BlackPlanet.com (what visiting MiGente will take you to now). Before that, I was on MSN chatrooms. Before that AiM had me A/S/L'ing at just 13 years old. Wow. Taking as many free trial AOL compact discs as possible from as many places.
Connections happening in real time. Much easier than that face to face stuff. Internet provides more ease in spontaneity connections than finding yourself somewhere with folks and not seeming like a weirdo by finding a connection. Look at me, taking you along my rambling. Now can you imagine me doing that in person?
Anyway, people follow me because I 'keep it real'. I say what's on my mind just like I would if I was with you in person somewhere. I'm definitely not for 'the faint of heart'. I'm bold and if I'm on your team, I am not a 'yes man'. I'm adventurous and fun and will make sure that your time with me is memorable.
I sincerely think that one of the reasons people find me special is because of how special I remind them they are.
Life has a way of making a lot of us forget to breathe deeply, let alone keep your purpose loud and clear no matter what. So, I help you get in touch with that part.
People from my past have said that they have seen visions of me motivating others in sold out arenas or stadiums. That's quite the privilege I've yet to experience so in the meantime, I will continue making connections while there's still stock of me. Even if it gets only one read. The link is ours.
About the Creator
Soulful Jenn
Link to my first book: https://www.amazon.com/SuiJENeris-Hope-Voice-Soulful-Jenn/dp/1532753136/ref=cm_cr_arp_d_product_top?ie=UTF8
Keep reading
More stories from Soulful Jenn and writers in Humans and other communities.
Hind Rajab: A Child the World Heard Too Late
Cinema has always been a powerful medium for telling stories that history books often reduce to numbers. When a film chooses to focus on a single child caught in the machinery of war, it forces audiences to confront reality not as statistics, but as human loss. The movie inspired by the tragic story of Hind Rajab, a young Palestinian girl, does exactly that. It is not merely a film; it is a testimony, a memorial, and a question posed to the conscience of the world. Hind Rajab’s name became known globally after reports emerged of her final hours during the Gaza conflict. She was a child trapped in circumstances no child should ever experience. The film based on her story does not sensationalize her death, nor does it turn her suffering into spectacle. Instead, it approaches her story with restraint, dignity, and an unwavering focus on innocence lost amid violence. The Story at the Heart of the Film The movie centers on a young Palestinian girl who becomes separated from safety during intense military escalation. Through her eyes, viewers witness fear, confusion, and the fragile hope that someone, somewhere, will come to help. The film follows her final journey—both physical and emotional—using minimal dialogue and powerful visual storytelling. Rather than relying on graphic imagery, the filmmakers choose silence, pauses, and close-up shots to convey terror and vulnerability. This artistic choice makes the film even more haunting. The audience is left to sit with the child’s fear, her calls for help, and the unbearable waiting that defines her final moments. By focusing on Hind as an individual rather than a symbol, the film restores her humanity. She is not portrayed as a political tool, but as a daughter, a child with dreams, and a life that mattered. A Child as the Center of a Global Tragedy What makes this movie particularly impactful is its refusal to shift focus away from the civilian cost of war. The story does not revolve around soldiers, strategies, or power struggles. It revolves around a child who should have been worried about school, friends, and play—not survival. This narrative choice challenges the audience to rethink how conflicts are discussed in media and politics. Wars are often framed in terms of borders, ideologies, and victory. This film asks a different question: What is the price paid by those who have no role in choosing the war? By centering the story on Hind, the film exposes the imbalance of power and the devastating consequences faced by the most vulnerable. Artistic Direction and Emotional Weight The film’s direction is deliberately restrained. There is no dramatic background score overpowering the scenes. Instead, ambient sounds—distant explosions, static-filled phone calls, the quiet breathing of a frightened child—carry the emotional weight. This realism makes the film deeply unsettling. The young actress portraying Hind delivers a performance that is heartbreakingly authentic. Her expressions alone communicate fear, confusion, and bravery far beyond her years. The filmmakers avoid overacting or melodrama, allowing the story’s truth to speak for itself. Cinematography plays a crucial role as well. Tight frames and limited perspectives reinforce the feeling of entrapment, while long, unbroken shots force viewers to experience time as Hind did—slow, uncertain, and terrifying. A Political Film Without Political Speeches One of the film’s greatest strengths is that it does not rely on speeches or overt political messaging. Its power lies in its simplicity. By telling one child’s story honestly, it exposes the broader reality of civilian suffering in conflict zones. The film does not tell audiences what to think. Instead, it asks them to feel—and that is far more powerful. Viewers are left to grapple with difficult questions about responsibility, accountability, and the value of human life. This approach has made the movie resonate across cultures and ideologies. Even those unfamiliar with the details of the Palestinian struggle can connect with the universal themes of childhood, fear, and loss. Reception and Global Impact Since its release, the film has sparked intense discussion on social media, in film circles, and among human rights advocates. Many viewers describe it as one of the most emotionally challenging films they have ever watched. Critics have praised its ethical storytelling and refusal to exploit tragedy. For many, the movie serves as an entry point into understanding the human cost of the Gaza conflict. It has been screened at independent film festivals and community events, often followed by discussions about civilian protection and children in war zones. Most importantly, the film ensures that Hind Rajab’s name is not forgotten. In a world where news cycles move quickly, cinema has given her story permanence. Why This Film Matters This movie matters because it stands against normalization of suffering. It reminds us that behind every headline about war are real people, real families, and real children whose lives are forever altered—or ended. By immortalizing Hind Rajab’s story, the film becomes an act of resistance against silence. It insists that her life had meaning and that her death deserves acknowledgment, reflection, and accountability. In the end, this is not just a film about one Palestinian girl. It is a film about every child trapped in conflict, every unanswered call for help, and every moment when humanity fails its youngest members. Cinema cannot undo tragedy, but it can refuse to let it be ignored. And in doing so, this film ensures that Hind Rajab’s story continues to speak—long after the screen fades to black.
By Hasbanullah6 days ago in Humans
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.